Her name was Denise Dunson, and for whatever reason, she began leaving large packets filled with letters she'd written each day on the doorknob to my office. I guess I had never told her she shouldn't. The letters smelled of incense, which I decidedly hate. Also, she chanted in kabbalistic prayer during some of the worst hours of the day for loud kabbalistic chanting, according to her neighbors. Mental disease can be ever so much fun. And although I eventually had to unsubscribe to her mailing list, I've still got a couple trashbags full of letters like this.
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